


FourPlay

by LydiaN



Category: The Monkees
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaN/pseuds/LydiaN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micky's "pick-me-up" concoction picks up more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FourPlay

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the "get a grip" post on Naked Persimmon's Tumblr. Obviously this never happened in any real or imagined universe. I cast no aspersions upon the cast.

Title: Four Play  
Author: Lydia N  
Genre/Pairing: TV Monkees. Solo Davy, Mike, Mickey, Mike/Peter with an assist from Davy and Micky. Think of them as a box full of puppies. Horny puppies.  
Rating: R

***

FOUR PLAY

***

 

June was a grueling month. Not that anyone really minded having enough money to pay the rent and feed themselves, but the number of graduation parties, wedding receptions, and club dates had all four Monkees feeling as washed-out as Mike's favorite pair of jeans.

They had a new song to rehearse before the next day's gig and the only time to practice was after that evening's double-header. It was almost one in the morning when the Monkees assembled wearily on the bandstand. Everyone turned to glare at Mike, their expressions turning to concern when he actually pulled up a chair and plopped down in it with his guitar across his lap. "I'm just too damn tired to stand up," he explained. "Y'all get chairs too, if you want."

"Mike," Davy warned, "if you're that worn out then maybe we should just go through this in the morning when we've had a little sleep." He pointed to the floor, where his maracas and tambourine lay in a little pile. "I don't have the strength to lift any one of those things, and I bet Peter--"

He didn't have to finish his sentence. Peter dropped his bass on his foot and collapsed on the floor.

Micky leaned over his drum kit with the sticks drooping between his nerveless fingers. "We can't wait, Davy - if there's something wrong with the arrangement then we need to fix it tonight. But there's good news."

"What, the world's comin' to an end tonight?" Mike groused.

"No! The good news is that I have prepared something special for just this kind of emergency."

Davy and Mike exchanged a look of "Oh, no, not again" but Peter perked up a bit. 

"Like, something to put in my milk before I go to bed, only not before I go to bed because obviously we want to not need to go to bed right now--"

"Peter!" Micky shouted, dropping his drumsticks altogether and running his hands through his disordered curls. "It's in a bowl on top of the ice box, man. Go get it, and bring us four glasses of water while you're at it."

"This isn't going to make me grow hair somewhere I don't want it?" Davy queried.

"Nope. I researched everything carefully--"

"Oh, God," Mike groaned.

Peter came back to the bandstand with a tray laden with four glasses of water and four pills in a small dish. "This what you're talking about, Micky?"

"Yep." Despite his exhausted eyes, Micky looked fondly at his latest creation. "Should keep us up for a bit, then let us get a good night's--"

"Morning's," cut in Davy.

"Good morning's sleep. So!" He took a pill and a glass from Peter and held them up to the group. "Down the hatch!"

Mike, Davy, and Peter watched him swallow the pill, then peered down into the dish.

"They're blue," Davy said. "That's weird, man."

"Blue food coloring, that's all," Micky said. He stretched his long, thin arms above his head and grinned. "Man, I'm feeling better already. Someone hand me my sticks!"

He looked so alert that the others shrugged and swallowed their own pills. Peter took the tray back to the kitchen and returned to find Mike and Micky happily practicing. Davy leaned over, handed Peter his bass, and scooped up his tambourine and maracas. "I can play both! I feel great!" he declared.

They sounded good on their new song, if the tempo was somewhat faster than they had intended. Mike made suggestions, Davy took them with good humor, Peter turned out to have a few tasty licks up his sleeve, and Micky's voice sounded clear as a bell.

For the first five minutes.

In the sixth minute, a change began to creep across each man's face. Micky looked ridiculously happy, Mike flushed scarlet, Davy's eyes glittered dangerously, and Peter looked shocked and pained.

If any of the four men had been able to set aside his sudden self-consciousness, he would have seen that the others were in the same predicament: full, unmistakable, persistent erection.

Mike and Peter clutched their instruments in front of their bulging groins. Davy lowered his maracas, wincing when he accidentally tapped himself with one of them. Micky was, for once, relieved to be behind the drum set so no one could see how impossibly horny he had become.

A couple of minutes later, Peter's knees gave out, causing him to tumble to the floor with his bass in his lap. "I can't...I can't keep going," he gasped.

Mike managed to lift his gaze from his guitar and glanced around him. "I think we're all in the same state, buddy," he said, his voice unnaturally strident. "Davy, you okay?"

"I'm...I'm..." Davy stuttered, blushing and squirming.

All three men turned to the probable source of their distress. "Micky," Mike said in as neutral a tone as he could manage," what, exactly, was in those little blue pills?"

"I don't understand!" Micky choked. "They were supposed to just be little pick-me-ups!"

"Well, they picked ME up good and proper," Mike mumbled. He sighed, shifting uncomfortably against his instrument. "Obviously we can't go out chick-hunting at this hour and in this condition so there's only one thing for it."

"Cold showers for four?" Davy asked. "I go first!"

"That'll take too long. Let's just separate and take care of business on our own. Mick, you can use our bedroom. Davy, you go into the bathroom so Peter can have your room, and I'll go out on the porch. Meet back in here when we're done and we can finish the song." He winced when he leaned over to place his guitar on the amp. 

Davy simply dropped the maracas and limped off toward the bathroom. Micky, his head lowered in embarrassment, made his way to his room as quickly as he could. "I'm sorry, Mike," he muttered.

"That's okay, you were just tryin' to help. Now scoot, Pete--I don't want an audience."

Peter shook his hair over his eyes and walked unsteadily toward the stairs. His hand clenched the railing so hard his knuckles were white.

Mike resisted the temptation to whistle in sympathy. He stood alone for a few minutes, trying to gather his thoughts. He was distracted by the sounds the others were making--Davy's breathless gasps, Micky's high-pitched giggle, and Peter's quiet moans. He thought about staying in the living room and letting those sounds spur him on but decided that it would be too intrusive. Instead, he began to unzip his jeans as he walked out onto the patio. He wrapped a firm hand around himself and began to stroke. 

The acoustics in the Pad were better than Mike had imagined. Even from the outdoors he could still hear Davy exhorting himself to go harder, and a few moments later he heard a splash in the toilet followed by a shuddering sigh of relief. Micky was doing God-knows-what to make himself laugh like a loon, and Peter sounded as if he was being tortured.

What Mike didn't know as he sprawled on a lawn chair, pumping his fist over his aching cock, was that Davy had watched himself in the mirror the whole time, that Micky was thrusting sloppily into a banana peel, and that Peter had never successfully masturbated in his life and was flailing around in abject misery.

What he did know was that his own release was imminent. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of sea air, letting out a single sharp grunt as the world went white and silent around him. 

There. Concentration and efficiency. Mike grimaced when he realized he hadn't brought anything to clean himself off with. He jumped over the railing and dashed naked into the surf, letting the warm waves wash over him. By the time he loped back to the balcony his body was dry enough for him to get re-dressed.

Davy was lounging on the sofa when Mike returned. They gave each other an embarrassed nod. "Better?" Davy asked tersely.

"Much. You?"

"Great." 

Davy cleaned his fingernails and Mike reached for a magazine. They both tried very hard not to listen as Micky howled out his climax. "Subtle, Mick," Mike said sotto voce, which made Davy crack up and lean his head on Mike's shoulder. By the time Micky emerged, hair sticking up in directions not found on any compass, he found his two roommates laughing hysterically.

"That's not what a man wants to hear after his moment of triumph," Micky said in a voice hoarse from exertion and overuse.

"Yeah? Well, we men had to hear something we didn't want to, either," Davy hiccuped.

It took a moment for the nickel to drop, then it was Micky's turn to blush. "Oh. Oh, man. I didn't know I was so loud."

"Nah, 's'okay," Mike snickered. 

"Just keep your science experiments far, far away from us from now on. If that'd happened AT the gig, man," Davy giggled, "well, it would've been one weird scene."

Micky hung his head. "Aww, Micky, don't," Mike said, pulling Micky down to the sofa and wrapping an arm around his slumped shoulders. "You meant well. And it turned out okay..."

Mike paused. All three men lifted their heads at the sound of harsh, miserable sobbing.

"Peter," Micky whispered. "Oh, man, Peter's still...you know..."

Mike looked over at Davy. "Does it usually take him this much time?"

"I dunno." Davy looked down at his fingernails again. "I mean, I've never heard him...not when he was awake, more like when he's dreaming, you know?"

The keening was interrupted by the crash of glass. Mike raced up the stairs with Micky and Davy in tow. He knocked firmly on the door. "Pete? You okay, buddy?"

"Go away!" came the anguished cry from inside the bedroom. "Just...just don't come in. I'm okay!"

"What broke?" Micky asked. "Are you hurt?"

"No!" Peter's voice was thin and all three men could hear that he was in tears. 

"Peter, we just want to help," Davy offered.

Peter's laugh was dry and hollow. "I don't think so," he gasped. "Please. Just...go away, oh, God, please, go away..."

Mike scowled. Micky's eyes were wide with concern and Davy looked terrified. Mike tried the doorknob. "Pete, why'd you lock the door, man?"

"Go AWAY!"

Davy patted his pockets. "I don't have the key," he whispered.

"I don't think we should go in there," Micky put in, looking nervously between Mike and Davy. "He's...not presentable, you know?"

"I don't care," Mike hissed. "Something bad's happening in there, and it's happening to Peter, so let's take care of it." He put his hands on Davy's shoulders and moved him away from the door. With one long-legged kick, Mike succeeded in cracking the door open enough for Micky to slip his hand through and turn the knob from the inside.

What they found stopped them in their tracks.

Peter was curled up in the fetal position on his bed, one hand tearing at his sweat-dampened hair and the other clutching his rampant erection. His entire body was drawn too tightly, like an overwound clock that was about to explode its springs across the room. His torn shirt and a shattered drinking glass attested to his frustration, as did the painful, wracking sobs that shook his lean frame.

"Jesus!" Davy drew back and turned away, embarrassed to find his friend in such a vulnerable state. Micky, wincing, walked quickly to Peter's side and put a hand on his shoulder. Peter's sobs only came faster but he arched into Micky's comforting hand.

"Peter," Micky whispered, "what's the matter?"

Peter shook his head and buried his face in the pillow. Micky looked helplessly at Mike, who strode forward, knelt next to the bed and pulled Peter's hand out of his hair, holding it lightly. "Peter, it's okay, it's okay, babe. We've got you, it's gonna be fine. Just...just tell us, all right?"

Again, Peter shook his head. He coiled himself up even tighter.

Mike inclined his head at Davy, and despite his discomfort Davy could not disobey. He stood on the opposite side of the bed and stroked Peter's wet hair out of his face. 

Micky shook his head, his voice almost breaking as he choked out, "This is my fault, Pete, I'm so sorry..."

Even in his tormented state, Peter forced his eyes open to look at Micky. "Not...not your fault. I just can't...can't..."

"Take your time, Peter," Mike said, gentling him the way Davy would do with a reluctant horse. "It's all gonna be fine. Just take some deep breaths, okay?"

Peter nodded, breathing shallowly through chapped lips. "I can't...do it. To myself. I have to have one of, you know, THOSE dreams." He looked at Mike with wild, red-rimmed eyes. "But I'm so wired and I can't fall asleep and it's been an hour and it really HURTS, Mike--"

"Ssh, it's okay. You trust us, right?" Peter nodded, biting his lip as he turned his head toward the pillow again. Mike cupped Peter's cheek with a light touch and turned his face up again. "We're gonna take care of you, man. You just lie back, that's it," he murmured as he helped Peter stretch out on the narrow bed. "Just scooch over a mite so I can sit next to you. Guys?" He looked at Micky and Davy with an expression that brooked no argument.

Micky's expression was an endearing combination of pity and eagerness. Davy was blushing. Mike whispered his instructions as softly as he could. "No more than you're comfortable with. He'll freak if he knows we're freaking too. Davy, he's burning up so go get some towels and a bowl of cold water. Micky, we'll stay right here with Peter."

Mike ran his hands slowly up and down Peter's thighs. "We don't wanna scare you, buddy, so if we do something you don't like, you speak up." Peter nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Micky knelt on the floor to Peter's right. He stroked along the ridge of Peter's hipbone, then worked his way underneath to cup a firm buttock. Peter let out a surprised, delighted cry and arched his back. "Have you ever...with a guy?"

"No," Micky said at the moment Mike stunned everyone by saying "Yes." 

Davy, who was entering the room with his supplies, nearly dropped everything. "You must be joking!" he squeaked, raising his eyebrows in shock.

"Not joking. I was in the military for a bit, remember? It gets damn lonely on base." He leaned over Peter and pressed their foreheads together. "But I've never done it for a friend. Will you let me, Peter?"

Peter nodded. A small, secret smile played on the corners of Mike's lips as he considered what would give Peter the most pleasure. 

Davy sat down on the bed with his back against the headboard and arranged himself so Peter's head was cradled in his lap. "This'll make you feel better," he promised as he dampened a washcloth and placed it gently on Peter's forehead. He untangled Peter's messy hair with his fingers, pausing only to turn the cloth over to the cooler side. "My mum used to do this. Well, THIS, not THAT," he stammered, trying not to look at Mike's hand.

Peter arched still higher, gasping, when Mike gently touched his cock. "You like that?" Mike asked softly.

Peter's response was a loud swallow and a loud intake of breath. Micky smiled at Davy, then leaned over the bed so his hands could roam freely along the planes of Peter's chest. "How about that?" Micky queried.

"Nice. You smell like bananas." Peter nuzzled Micky's wrist, then tipped his chin up so he could pick up the scent on Davy's hands. "And you smell like Ivory soap."

"Ninety-nine and forty-four one hundredth percent pure, that's me," Davy chirped brightly. "What's Mike smell like?"

Mike leaned over Peter and stroked his face gently with his free hand. Peter sniffed his wrist. "Salt? Oh, the ocean! I love the smell of the ocean."

Moving his other hand more firmly, Mike continued to pleasure his friend. "You always smell like the ocean, babe. Like the foam on a wave, and skin that's warm from sunshine."

Moaning, Peter began to thrust his hips up into Mike's vigorous grip. "That's right, Peter, just enjoy yourself," Micky encouraged. "When you come in from the beach your hair's always shining. I'm so jealous of that beautiful, smooth hair, man, you have no idea. I go outside for ten minutes and I come back with a frizzy, dry Brillo pad on my head." Peter chuckled, and Micky tapped the bridge of Peter's nose. "I'm so glad your nose gets freckled, or else you'd be too perfect."

"No, it's...Davy...who's...perfect," Peter said between gasps. "Davy's so...handsome, it's...he's not even real..."

"I'm very much a real boy," Davy said, smiling down at his friend. Taking one of Peter's hands, he brought it to his lips gingerly then held it against his cheek. "I always wanted to play the bass, you know. But my fingers are too small. Not like yours."

"I could...teach...ohhh, Mike, that's so good...I...what was I saying?"

Mike grinned. "I think we'd best stop distracting him."

"No, no, it's...it's...oh, my GOD, Mike, do that again!" Mike, who was finishing each stroke with a twist around the head, redoubled his efforts and within seconds Peter's body was quaking. "Ohhh, Mike, please, please..."

"That's it, babe, you're nearly there," Mike crooned. Micky swooped down and began to suck one of Peter's hardened nipples, using his fingers to tease the other. Davy kneaded Peter's tense shoulders, humming a nonsensical tune into his ear.

"I...I can't...I can't..." Peter sobbed as his body seized up but would not allow him to tumble over the precipice. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can," Davy said gently. "We've got you, Peter. We love you. It's going to be fine, just let it happen." Mike bestowed his fondest smile on Davy, who beamed back at him.

"I love you, too," Micky added, pressing his ear over Peter's thundering heart. 

Peter opened his eyes and stared at Mike's intense face. "What about you?" he panted.

"Oh, Pete." Mike's eyes were shining. "You know I do, man."

Peter shook his head and let out another frustrated moan as orgasm eluded him yet again. "Tell me. Please...tell me..."

Mike continued to stroke Peter's cock with one hand and brought the other to fondle his swollen, tight sac as he purred, "So much, Peter. I love you so much."

Whether it was the touch or the words that did it, Peter would never know, but suddenly he was flooded with absolute pleasure and he cried out as he climaxed. Micky held him tightly, Davy petted his hair, and Mike slowed his hand down until Peter lay calm and spent on the bed. Mike mouthed the word "towel" at Micky and nodded his thanks when Micky tossed the washcloth to him so he could clean his hand and Peter's groin and thighs.

To their surprise, Micky suddenly began to tremble and he pulled away from Peter, looking dejected. "What's wrong?" Mike asked with unusual concern in his tone.

"You guys must be really mad at me," Micky mumbled. "Look what I did."

Mike sighed in exasperation. "I am looking, Mick. And what I see is us making Peter feel good. Davy's got a smile as big as Texas, Peter here isn't going to be able to move for a week, and I got to help out a friend. And now we don't even need to have another rehearsal--look how well we did as a team. Why'd we be mad at you for that?"

"Do I look mad?" Peter asked, his head cradled in Davy's lap and his legs sprawled out over Mike's.

Davy reached over to muss Micky's hair. "Just be careful next time. Try your experiments out on yourself, first."

They all laughed, even Micky. One by one they got off the bed, looking affectionately at their roommate. Davy began to pull up the blanket when he saw Peter frown. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Lonely," Peter replied through a yawn. "I'll miss you guys."

Davy smiled and patted Peter's arm. "I'm in the next bed over, mate. Mike and Micky will just be downstairs." 

Micky was already shoving Davy's bed toward Peter's until they collided. He waggled his eyebrows at Mike. "Wanna be Monkee in the Middle?"

"You're a riot, Mick." Mike slipped his shoes and belt off, then slid under the covers next to Peter. "C'mere," he murmured as Peter snuggled up against him. Davy crawled in on Peter's other side and Micky draped himself over the edge of the bed until his head rested on Davy's chest. Each man reached for whatever part of Peter they could reach, stroking his arm and hair until the four of them were nearly asleep.

Nearly.

"Why's your arm twitching, Davy?" Micky mumbled as he flung his legs over Davy's.

"That is NOT my arm..."

 

***  
END  
***


End file.
